


Destruction

by VampiricFaith



Category: Berserk
Genre: A little bit of incidental shit, Anal Sex, Blood, Blood and Gore, Hermaphrodites, M/M, Rape, Ryona, Vaginal Sex, Vomiting, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 00:23:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1837591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampiricFaith/pseuds/VampiricFaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad end for Guts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> Grunbeld x Guts.

"Is that all, Black Swordsman? Is this really all I get from you?" Grunbeld stepped forward, the ground shaking as his massive form moved.

He stood above Guts, towering easily above him, and Guts chastised himself for being so careless as to get into this state. Even in normal circumstances, when both men were in peak condition, Grunbeld would stand tall above him, but it was more so now. Guts leaned on one knee, choking brittle gulps of air into his chest, wheezing as broken ribs pierced at his soft innards. If it weren’t for his iron slab of a sword at his side, he’d be unable to even be in that state. He leaned against it for support, and even then, it trembled against the ground, stirring up dirt.

Grunbeld had no mercy on the weakened man. His first move was towards Guts’s arm; Grunbeld put aside his war hammer, no use for it now. It would come down to hands.

Guts lifted up his right hand, and began to swing his left arm over to meet it, an arduous journey in this condition. His entire being shook. His sword slid, and he did too, forward into the dirt of the battlefield, but he did not fall.

It was only because Grunbeld caught him. The entirety of Guts’s prosthetic right arm was easily swallowed in the dragon man’s large palm.

“Let me go, you inhuman freak!” Guts spat out the words, partially out of rage, and partially out of panic; it had been quite some time since he’d failed so magnificently, and he’d not concocted a plan to get out of this yet. An escape didn’t seem possible.

Grunbeld gave one grunt, then muttered a simple phrase. “As you please.” Another large hand was on Guts’s beat upon chest then, and the large man was pushed back with no delicateness into the ground by someone much larger. Grunbeld didn’t release Guts’s right arm. It tore off with an astounding rip, then a rattle.

Guts screamed as the prosthetic was so forcibly removed, his amputated arm receiving a few new wounds as the metal casings meant to hold it on tore into his flesh. The sound stopped short as he thumped flat on his back on the ground, the wind knocked from him. Stunned but not out, he turned to try to reach his sword, but it was barely too far for his shattered arm to reach.

Grunbeld tossed the arm aside and it clattered on the ground, limp and powerless without a body to be attached to.

As Grunbeld stepped over Guts, his feet on either side of him, Guts stared back up. His teeth were gritted so hard they could be heard grinding. His eyes were wide and wild, pupils narrowed to pinpricks in bloodshot whites. Never giving up, he swung his left arm to his chest, grabbing for his bandolier of knives. Grunbeld responded wordlessly, gripping Guts’s hand tight, squeezing it until he heard a crunch. Guts arched his back without any control of his body, letting out a stuttering cry as his wounded muscles all went taut. Blood gushed from open wounds, running thick and ruddy over his skin. The bandolier was ripped off and discarded like a broken toy. Grunbeld’s hands connected into a combined fist, and it came hammering down, contacting directly into Guts’s left shoulder. It cracked, and shatters of bone protruded through the bruised, bleeding flesh.

“Fuck!” Guts coughed, and blood came up with it, staining down his mouth. His muscles all went tight, then loose. He was being plagued with spasms he couldn’t control. Vertigo hit him, and his head spun, as did his belly. Guts was falling, even though he’d already hit the ground.

Easily, the battered old breastplate was pulled off Guts’s body as if it were made of paper. Grunbeld cast it aside, one sharp claw tracing down Guts’s sternum, over the gambeson he had been wearing underneath. “Ahh. This isn’t so bad.” His lips pulled back to show his array of sharp, pointed teeth as his claw then ripped the cloth with an astonishing tear. His tongue traced over his lips. “I have a gentleman’s proposition for you, Black Swordsman, that will allow you to live for today.”

“I didn’t have any intention on cashing in just yet,” Guts wheezed as he spoke, the words physically painful under the strain of his crushed ribs. “Nor of negotiating with a goddamn apostle!”

“Ah, but I have to admit I am a man, as well as you- I’m sure you understand what it can be like, can’t you?” Grunbeld’s weight shifted down and he pinned down Guts, perching upon his belly, making Guts squirm and groan. He pulled off his gauntlets, showing thick, calloused, claw-tipped fingers. He popped aside his own armour’s blood-splattered tasset, and Guts glared. He knew what was coming.

Grunbeld’s prick was soon exposed, a long, uncut piece that was well endowed, even for the giant’s height and general size. It stood erect under a fire red bush of wiry pubic hair. It held an upward curve, as large as Guts’s forearm, hand included, the head the same size and shape of a ripe summer peach. His foreskin was thick, visibly piled up behind his glans; one hand encircled his shaft, and as Grunbeld pulled at his prick, the foreskin easily engulfed the entirety of his head, and then some. Beneath hung his large, heavy balls, sized to match; they would easily overfill Guts’s palm. The tip oozed excessively, bobbing with the beat of his heart. Guts choked back a gag as one pearly, half-clear drop splattered onto his belly, stinging against wounds; the liquid was unusually hot.

“You fucking inhuman freak- you-” Guts swallowed a mouthful of his own coppery blood, and choked back the gag that followed. “You act like a knight but all you apostles are the same!”

“Believe what you want,” Grunbeld said, and he lifted himself up, satisfied that Guts wasn’t able to move in any way that he could possibly attack or escape. He worked even more quickly removing Guts’s armour than he had his own, and he did a more through job, despite how much Guts spit and squirmed. Whereas on himself, he’d only taken off what he needed, Guts was stripped down to the skin in every place.

He’d recover. He always did, and Grunbeld did intend to leave him alive. But for now, with his metal arm gone, his other arm broken, and several shattered ribs, Guts was not the man he usually was.

“Let us get this off.” Grunbeld pulled off his helmet and placed it aside; as it came off, his silken red hair tumbled down to his shoulders; it was a few shades darker than his eyes, and gleamed in the light.

He leaned in. The tip of his tongue brushed over Guts’s nose, tracing the scar there; it then dipped into the crease of his torn out eye, slicking the smaller man’s face in saliva. Guts grimaced, and lifted one leg, jamming his knee as hard as he could manage into the giant’s gut.

Grunbeld grunted, and pushed one hand onto Guts’s leg, pushing it down into the ground with more force than necessary. He rubbed up and down it, letting the hair-covered skin tickle his palm.

Grunbeld moved slowly, taking in Guts’s body with exploratory pleasure. His mouth settled on Guts’s neck, where he sucked at the skin; his mouth engulfed a grand portion of it, and his teeth scraped it, opening new wounds.

Both hands traced down Guts’s body as he worked down it, leaving kissed on his chest as if they were lovers. Biting into one pectoral, Grunbeld’s teeth left a large sharp circle around the nipple and Guts swore once more.

Grunbeld breathed in. “Your smell is exquisite,” he said, going so far as to nuzzle into Guts’s armpit, taking a deep inhale of the human’s musk. It was something above mere sweat, the masculine smell of it tinged with blood, metal, dirt, and grime, a heavy reek of death and war. Guts hated that the similar smell coming from the giant’s form was making his prick start to stir, at least on the most basic, primal level he had.

Grunbeld’s hands reached Guts’s legs, and traced on his inner thighs. He took no care; his claws scraped the flesh, making nicks in it, putting cuts within cuts. The tendons were exposed in places, and manipulating Guts’s body like a rag doll, he lifted one leg to lick on the warm innards. Guts went blind from the pain, and both legs kicked as he let out a broken howl. His free leg flailed, where the one Grunbeld lapped at could only manage a feeble wriggle.

Then Grunbeld pulled away and licked his lips, finally eying between the other’s legs. He stared, and he blinked, taken back by what he saw. “Ah, what’s this?”

“Don’t!” Guts tightened up, his leg muscles going rocky in a final attempt to keep the other out, but it was useless. His legs were both pressed back at the thigh with Grunbeld’s left hand, while the right went down. With a level of care he’d not presented before, Grunbeld pushed back Guts’s half-hard prick and his plush balls with one finger. He was bewildered by what was under.

“Well, I’ll be damned! Look at you, Black Swordsman, equipped more than any other human I’ve ever seen!” He let out a low, single laugh- heh!- before twisting one finger down to settle into the warm folds that lie there, beneath Guts’s prick, above his ass, his cunt, his secret that so few people knew about. He stroked against the lips, pressing his fingertip against the hole to gauge its level of resistance. “This has turned interesting. You’re a unique man, you know. One of the most standout I’ve ever met.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you, that’s not for you to know about!” Guts’s voice threatened to crack with how loud he yelled, and he thrashed on the ground with renewed vigour. “That’s nobody’s, nobody’s but-”

Grunbeld looked up, and interrupted Guts. His expression wasn’t amusement. It wasn’t joy. It was a dire inquisitiveness, wondering things others wouldn’t dare utter to Guts. “Does Lord Griffith know?”

Guts forgot his pain, his sickness, he forgot everything in that moment. He was a feral animal, a rabid wolf, the cry coming from his mouth not even resembling words but saying more than words ever could. His legs sprung up, actually making Grunbeld’s hand budge, and though both arms were useless, he tried to use them. The end result was Guts grinding in the dirt, frothing from his mouth, blood pooling down his neck from his overexertion.

“Mmn. Well, then… I suppose it’s time we stop playing around,” Grunbeld lowered down his prick with his free hand. It moved back and forth between Guts’s puckered asshole and his pussy, smearing pre between the two as he decided which hole to use first. Finally, he chose, and began to press against Guts’s asshole.

Guts froze. He swallowed as it pushed there, and he tightened up, trying to resist it. Memories he’d rather not face tried to come back into his mind and with everything he had, he pushed them out. No- they shouldn’t be there. He didn’t need fear. He needed pain. He needed rage. He needed his own agony to turn into a sharp tool to use against his foe.

He focused so intensely that he almost didn’t feel it go in- _almost_. Such a feat would be impossible. The imposing prickhead struggled to go in, but Grunbeld was determined. It didn’t slide into Guts’s ass; it pressed against the hole, and was forced in, with an audible tear as the gigantic prick slid into the most too small hole.

Guts went tight, then limp, falling against the ground. He didn’t move, frozen, unable to acknowledge what had happened. Grunbeld moved slowly at first, trying to get used himself; Guts’s insides squeezed him, rather, choked him, and it was difficult to thrust this way.

But he soon had a rhythm. Grunbeld’s mouth fell open as he fucked into the other, his hand on Guts’s belly. He breathed in and out in deep, chest-shaking pants, and each thrust became easier and easier, the passage becoming increasingly lubricated from a combination of Grunbeld’s precome and Guts’s blood.

Suddenly Grunbeld stopped. The ceasing of motions snapped Guts back into reality. The pain washed over him again as if new, and his head swirled, vision going black once more. _No, no- stay awake. You are stronger than this!_

Grunbeld sighed. It was a different sound from before, and for a moment, Guts didn’t know what was happening. Then the strangely satisfied half-smile on Grunbeld’s lips combined with the sudden gush of liquid warmth into his body made it clear. Grunbeld was pissing in him. The thought repeated in his mind and he didn’t even have time to feel disgust; he saw black, then red, then he gave a shout as he tried to swing his left arm, his rage making him unable to remember, to comprehend that it was still broken beyond all help.

“You son of a whore, you _son of a whore_!” Guts punctuated his words with a groan, unable to help it as his belly began to swell from the fluid flowing into him. Grunbeld didn’t reply with words, instead just pulling out. Guts trembled, teeth clenched tight, as his insides emptied; his asshole was puffy, red, swollen from rough fucking, soft, fleshy, and starting to collapse inside out. As soon as Grunbeld’s prick was out, the giant let Guts fall into the ground as his body emptied; from inside his bowels, out gushed a combination of blood, pre, Grunbeld’s piss, and the inevitable traces of shit. They formed an ever-growing puddle beneath Guts’s ass, between his legs. He tried to move, but his thighs just stirred the fluids up with the dirt, coating his skin and hair in a particularly foul mud. His ass seared even more now than it had while Grunbeld’s prick had been inside him. It gaped, unwilling and unable to close, made useless from fucking.

Grunbeld took hold of his prick and pointed downward with it. He made no particular effort to aim, not smiling, hardly expressing, lips pressed tight together. Evidently, he’d cut himself off. Hot, strong-smelling, off-yellow piss shot out of his prickhead, splattering Guts quite literally from head to toe. Guts sputtered and coughed as it contacted his face; he scraped his tongue against his teeth to try to remove the brackish taste. It stung as it poured into wounds. It dirtied him physically and metaphorically.

Clearly Grunbeld wasn’t bothered by it; he changed his position, sitting on the ground, and he pulled Guts into his lap. Guts’s back to his belly, Grunbeld manipulated the human like a toy, the large man seeming small only against the literal giant. “We’re almost done here.” The large cockhead pressed then against the lips of Guts’s pussy, parting them apart. Guts swore to himself; he cursed himself, his fucked up mind, his fucked up body, the darkness that lay inside him that he tried to balance and tried to deny. He cursed it in particular because he couldn’t deny that his lips had parted on their own accord and that he was wet. He couldn’t deny that his prick stood up tall to its impressive height, the skin on the tip pulled back to show a wet, wanting head.

He hated it. He knew he did. But the pain brought out something inside of him he didn’t want to think about.

Grunbeld’s prick slid inside; he let out a startling cry as it went into Guts’s other hole, his sharp teeth gnashing together as he pushed down on Guts’s belly, forcing him to sit down upon it. One of his hands brushed up Guts’s belly, toying with his prick with his palm. Guts went taut once again as the giant’s prick invaded his body. He let out a twitch as it bumped up against the rubbery resistance of his cervix.

“It will fit,” Grunbeld said, and both his hands gripped Guts’s hips. He pulled downwards once again.

“Don’t- don’t!” Guts thumped his amputated right arm against Grunbeld’s chest, his only form of resistance at this point. He truly couldn’t do anything, but he wouldn’t simply take it. It wasn’t his way. “You do and you’ll regret ever getting a hard-on in my presence, filth!”

“We’ll see about that,” Grunbeld thrust up. It seemed impossible, but clearly it wasn’t. Guts felt his throat ripple and his belly squeeze tight, his insides stirred up. Grunbeld’s humungous prickhead had gone through. He began to thrust up, quickly, at a much more rapid pace than he had in the man’s ass. He battered Guts’s uterus with no mercy. Guts’s cervix stretched beyond what it normally should, and it was finally too much for him. He was only held up by the fact that Grunbeld’s hands, one on his stomach, one on his hips, kept him steady. His innards all clenched, and he puked.

It violently shot out of his mouth, propelled by the motions of his violation; part of it went down his jaw, some on his chest, and by effect, Grunbeld’s hand, but most of it landed on the piss and pre soaked ground before them. Grunbeld’s nose crinkled up and he pulled his hand away long enough to shake it off, wiping the muck off on Guts’s inner thigh. His throat burned from a combination of hoarseness and the bile burning it. The taste of acid clung to his mouth.

“Disgusting. You filthy creature.” It wasn’t enough for Grunbeld to stop, though. He moved harder. Their position switched; changed to his hands and knees, only one hand on the ground, the other holding up the rag doll that Guts had become; it was for a sake of his ease, not concern for Guts. His thrusts made Guts drag through the mud. They made Guts’s prick jump up and down with the motions. Grunbeld’s heavy balls slapped against Guts’s ass on each and every motion, audibly contacting the skin as he violated the proud, broken warrior.

The pressure was too much for Guts’s insides. Finally, he stopped trying to hold it; Grunbeld’s prick squeezed too hard against his bladder, and he let it go. As he was raped, his prick danced, spraying a trail of dark yellow urine, coating his already sopping belly and thighs. Then, to his lividity, it spurt. One, then another, then quickly two more lines of gluey, pent up seed, that of a man who’d not released in too much time, shot from his prick. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” It was the only word Guts knew in that moment. All he knew was how to curse.

Then with a roar, Grunbeld came as well. The first line poured directly into Guts’s womb; the second coated his cunt’s walls as the giant withdrew. Guts was dropped, discarded onto the ground. Grunbeld clutched his prick near the base, squeezing tight as the last few lines came out. His balls squeezed visibly as he came, his eyes turned up, his face distorted in a hideous expression of unbridled pleasure. His final shots of semen landed in long, ivory lines on Guts’s back, painting a stripe up the human’s spine.

Grunbeld then started to come down. As his earth-shattering orgasm drifted to afterglow, he looked at what he’d wrought. Guts, the Black Swordsman, laid there, broken, bruised, bleeding, coated in mud, piss, seed, vomit, blood, shit. His breaths were ragged. Both his holes stayed open, dripping out blood; semen dribbled from his pussy. Grunbeld pondered a moment if there could be repercussions for that.

“I must go,” Grunbeld said, as he started to replace the armour he’d removed from himself. “As I promised, I’ve left you alive. That was something truly amazing. I don’t think I have ever seen a mortal with such a will to survive as you.” One foot nudged Guts’s body, and with a grunt, Grunbeld added, “I hope it is just as riveting next time.”

Guts couldn’t make any words, but as he struggled to maintain consciousness, he vowed to himself. _Oh, yes- just you wait until next time!_

Grunbeld would not be allowed to get away from this unpunished.


End file.
